February in June: Part 2

Continued ....

Whenever anyone inquires why my husband and I left our church in January of 2006, I cannot give any good reason. Several small problems converged at once, but none of them was the fault of anyone at the church. Ultimately, it was fear--a feeling that we were being drawn too far into something. But more than that, I was discovering that I had begun to care about the people around me. I started learning their names and forging friendships. And that, as I had learned from bitter experience, could turn out to be a mistake. When you have friends, you have something to lose. When you care about people, they can break your heart. I began to feel the internal pressure to leave before it was 'too late.'

It never occurred to me that my absence would be in any way missed. The nagging fear of rejection prevented me from seriously considering whether anyone might want me to stay.

I told myself that the separation would be easy. I had left dozens of churches over the years. How difficult could it be to have one more change? Transition had been the story of my life ever since I could remember. Nothing ever lasted.

During our first few weeks away from Calvary OPC, my husband and I just stayed home. We told ourselves (and each other) that we needed a break from church. We dodged calls and ignored email. We were supposed to feel relieved and happy about our decision and eager to move on with our lives, but we were depressed. Even crushed.

"I don't even know where to go after this," I whispered to my husband Rick late one night as we both lay awake unable to sleep. "We had the best shot we could ever have. The preaching was good. Those people were really nice to us. I think the pastor really cared about us. If we still couldn't make it work out, what chance do we have anywhere?"

The next Sunday, we sat in another church trying to convince ourselves we hadn't made a huge mistake and that we were ready to move on and out of Reformed churches. But the sermon barely got underway when Rick mumbled, "I miss Pastor Tom." We got up and left.

It is an astonishing fact of ministry that sometimes people simply self-destruct and cut off supportive friends and good fellowship for no good reason. Sometimes their reactions strike out at someone who isn't even there anymore--someone who hurt them a long time ago. And then, having bit the hand that fed them, they don't know what to do with themselves afterward. It seems impossible to set things right again, and so they drift further away out of a sense of despair. It occurred to me for the first time that the pastor had invested dozens of hours of preparation and teaching into our membership, answering our questions in class and on email ... only to have us bail out without much explanation two weeks before the completion of the class. What do you say to recover from that? "Oops"?

As it turns out, "oops" is pretty much what you say.

Tomorrow ... the conclusion of this story. :)